


Warmfront

by Vicenderbeth



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Degradation, M/M, Nobody is Dead, Pre-Relationship, Strong Language, idk what i wrote, spy is a bottom, why is writing sex scenes so hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 22:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12803850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicenderbeth/pseuds/Vicenderbeth
Summary: Spy woke up after fainting during humiliation round and found out that he was trapped in the proximity of RED base by an impending snowstorm. Desperate as he was, he tried to pay the RED Sniper a visit so he could use the bushman's weapon to send himself to respawn. However, things took an unfavorable turn.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First fic, written in effort to contribute to the fandom to keeping it alive. Tried to fix all the grammar mistakes. It's not the best, but I certainly put in a lot of effort into this fic. If you found anything erroneous or jarring, please do tell me. Comments and kudos are always appreciated.

The BLU Spy slowly came to himself, groaning softly as he realize that he is facing the cold, hard wooden floor of an abandoned shack near the RED base. The side of the said shack was nearly entirely missing, fierce winter wind was already carrying notably sized chunks of snow through the gap. He grimaced as he fingered at the blood and water-soaked fabric on his person that was his custom-tailored suit before the round started. The last thing he remembered was the enemy Demoman’s drunken yell three seconds after the end of the final round. The bastard really did use the humiliation round to its full extent, launching four glowing red pills into the shack where his ex-boyfriend was hurrying into, who was brutally killed on spot. Spy, who was just beginning to decloak due to the inactivation of his invis-watch, was standing a mere three to four meters away from the site of explosion, the force of which threw Spy against the back wall, knocking him out cold. 

Recently his team’s having a hard time because the RED Engineer and the RED Spy managed to sabotage their heating system. Although a very low move on RED’s behalf, this one worked surprisingly well comparing to their usual plots - BLU team’s performance had an apparent drop due to multiple cold-related factors; mercs were rolled over by various illnesses and the Medic often worked past midnight because all these patients have been clogging up his schedule with frequent visits and extra paperworks. 

To be honest, his performance was equally abysmal; the snow-coated ground easily exposed his position and resulted in many unnecessary deaths, including a few excruciating episodes with the enemy Pyro and clean headshots from the enemy Sniper even when he was fully cloaked. Most of his time was spent in getting back to the front from respawn just to get caught and killed again. 

With his right elbow, he managed to prop himself up in order to observe his surroundings. The sky was darkening in an alerting manner, overcast blocking out the precious, waning sunlight. A gust of wind blasted into the shack’s opening, carrying a flurry of snow that pricked the patches of skin exposed by the balaclava. The cold began seeping into his bones through his damp garments; he had remained stationary for too long that he could no longer feel his legs. He shifted his numb legs and wiggled his ankles and pushed himself up further with his right arm. He was exhausted; his joints cracked in response to his movements. But he needed to get up and get moving before he gets buried along with this small shack in the impending snowstorm. 

When he tried to use his left arm in aid to his effort, a sharp pain shot up his left arm that made him crumple back to the ground, grunting softly while he rolled onto his back and prodded at the damaged limb. 

Swearing, he managed to sit and eventually stand upright. Although a bit shaky, he gingerly hugged his left arm closer to himself and patted his suit pockets. No weapons. All he found was his disguise kit (which somehow _doesn’t_ evaporate after a loss, how curious) and the remains of his invis-watch that broke into two pieces. Seeing that he did not even have a way to send himself back to respawn, he tucked what used to be his watch into the inner pocket and disposed of the snow-spoiled cigarettes. No guns, no knives, no invisibility, but Spy always had a plan. The rogue snapped the disguise kit shut and stepped out into the blizzard. 

\--

“Vell, herren, it seems like we vill have a zunderstorm zhis evening!” The enemy Medic addressed the two doves that he held gingerly between his palms, one of the warm, quivering whiteness was tainted by fresh blots of red, the thought of which reminded Spy of his vacation inside the mad doctor’s refrigerator. It was not Spy’s finest moment; in fact, it was probably the lowest moment in his whole life. How the man managed to catch him still remained a mystery. 

The blood-stained dove buried its head in Medic’s palms as bits of snow fell onto it. The man let out a characteristically high-pitched laughter. 

“Oh Archimedes, are you afraid of zhe cold?”

Archimedes pecked at his fingers in response as if it understood the man’s teasing. The man only chuckled more, nuzzling at the doves with his chin. 

The snow was coming down harder, but the Medic was in no hurry to return to the damn base to let Spy cross the enemy grounds, whispering sweet nothings to his pets as he paced around the courtyard, leaving irregularly patches of footprints in the fresh snow. 

That white-robed motherfucker. Spy was mentally employing the most agonizing torture techniques onto the Medic when the automatic door rolled up. Behind the door was the enemy Engineer, clad in mittens and scarves with flame-shaped patterns, clearly a gift from Spy’s greatest nemesis. 

“Well, doc, you’d better be comin’ in now,” The shorter man called out to the said doctor, who turned around in surprise. “It’s almost dark out an’ it’s comin’ down pretty hard. Some hog-killin’ weather it’ll be. Pyro’s fixed some hot coco for the team. ”

Although barely noticeable, the doctor’s face lit up at the last sentence. 

“Zhis is indeed a cold day, herr Engineer.” The Medic sighed, scooping his doves up from an undisturbed patch of snow in one swift motion. 

“Yep.” The Engineer chuckled softly, his expression inscrutable behind the fiery-colored scarf. “Bet those BLU bastards will be even colder. The little trinket Spook’s installed for me’ll break the generator down. Be a real shame if my counterpart got killed by the bitin’ cold out there.”

The Medic hummed to himself as he shifted both birds onto his left hand and caressed the little creatures with the tip of his thumb, too distracted to acknowledge what the hardhat just said. “Herr Pyro did make a drink for me too, ja?”

The Texan laughed wholeheartedly and replied, “Py’s got coffee for ya, with a smidgen of sugar n’ milk, just the way you like it.”

The Pyro must had some talent with fixing drinks, because the RED medic disappeared behind the door after five long strides within four seconds, the door slammed down immediately behind him. 

Spy was completely still, his jaw hung agape. 

Generator. 

Respawn. 

Thank God that it’s a Friday. He couldn’t imagine going against nine psychos with the respawn down. 

Fuck God that it’s a Friday. His team wouldn’t be expecting him; he preferred to spend the Friday nights alone outside of base. 

He shuffled the accumulated snow off from his back and shifted the cold metal bat in his uninjured right hand, and he was on the move. 

\--

The RED Sniper was a man of few words. Though the majority of his co-workers were some obnoxiously loud men, he had respects for their extraordinary talent in destruction, for that act of killing is an art by itself. But, work aside, he was very detached from the rest of his team, always came into the building late after he had cleaned his weapons post-battle, and left as soon as he was done with his dinner. 

He seemed to have memorized their cooking schedule, tactfully avoiding going into the base for dinner when it was Scout, Soldier or Demo’s turn to cook. The only thing that the demolitions expert was good at making was explosives and cocktails; as a result, the base’s kitchen blew up every Wednesday because the drunken man wanted to “speed up the goddamn process” by adding in god-knows-what into his cuisine. However, on rare occasions, he was able to produce some edible food. 

On Soldier Sundays, the crazed American distributed C-rations with little plastic spoons that he had ordered for this special occasion, and the team was doomed with nothing but canned food until Sniper’s turn on Monday with freshly-caught game. On the other hand, Scout had no experience in cooking whatsoever. The boy seemed to believe that Bonk is a crucial ingredient when it comes to cooking despite Engie and Pyro’s combined effort on teach him how to cook properly. 

It’s been two hours after the final match of today, but knowing that there’ll be a chaotic barbeque party every Friday, he planned to go to the showers after everyone has fallen asleep to lower the possibility of getting injured. The van’s built-in heater, a token of gratitude from Engie, hummed quietly in the background as the marksman flipped over his beloved kukuri and wiped at the stubborn stains. Just as he was hanging the weapon on one of the hooks aligned on the walls of his camper, there was a string of loud, consecutive banging on the doors besides the muffled howling of the wind. Sniper shifted the crude knife from one hand to another and approached the closed door with caution. 

“Who is it?” Sniper yelled back at the banging. 

It paused for a second before the most insufferable voice in the whole Coldfront yelled back. 

“Ay Snipes, it’s me! Scout! Open up before I bash these goddamn doors right open in ya FACE!”

What in Saxton Hale’s name is Scout doing outside in the damn storm? 

Despite how much he wanted to ignore the boy’s ruckus and go back to where he left off, he still felt a tad bad for just leaving Scout out there in the cold. 

“Bloody wanker.” He grunted under his breath and pushed open the doors. A sizeable load of feathery snow gushed into the opening as Sniper’s vision adjusted to the dark, where a miserable-looking Scout stood in the knee-high snow. The youth lost his usual swagger; his blue eyes were wide and scared, staring right into Sniper’s. His red bomber jacket was torn and soaked, revealing his blood-stained undershirt. His right arm was hugging his left, which was slightly bent to the wrong angle. 

Scout dropped his bat on the ground with a soft thunk and nervously scratched his head. 

“Snipes, just let me in, a’ight? ‘M havin’ a rough one. Lost a bet against Soldier, a’ight? Please just let me in I swear to God I didn’t mean it when I said I wanna —”

“Agh, fine. Come in, ya little bugger.” Sniper lowered his weapon and stepped back to let the boy into his camper, frowning as the blood-water mixture dripped onto the floor. Scout was always pushed around a bit in the base by other men due to his age, but nobody has injured him this badly since his employment with RED, none that he’d seen. He wanted to ask the younger merc, but he knew better than to snoop around in other people’s business. Plus, Scout was bound to babble to him about every single detail on what resulted in his injury within the next five minutes. 

“Thanks, pallie!” Scout gave him a weak yet toothy grin, “I owe ya a big one.”

Sniper grumbled and turned to the mini kitchenette as Scout slumped into the chair with an intolerable groan. “I’m gonna get somethin’ to wipe ya clean, then I reckon I’d send ya to the infirmary and doc’s gonna patch ya up.” He mumbled as he fetched a piece of rag from one of the drawers, “Ya bloody wankers gotta—”

He came to a pause at the nearly inaudible puffing noise from the chair behind him. A noise that he’s too familiar with. The noise of a spy dropping a disguise. He whipped his head around and snarled, jumped on the frenchman as the latter yelped in distress. 

With a single hand, the markman’s long, calloused fingers were wrapped tightly against his neck, his knees pressing down on Spy’s legs. Spy was pinned on the wall in a flash and the grip tightened and lifted him off the floor. 

“Ya bloody, backstabbin’ snake!” Sniper growled and bared his teeth at Spy, whose eyes widened with fear as the Aussie grabbed his knife from the table with his spare hand. “Gimme one reason to not butcher you up and send you back to where you belong in a soup can!” 

Spy hacked and coughed, his short breaths made funny, rattling sounds inside his chest. This is it, the end of his life, dead under the blade of an insane bushman who can fill a mason jar with urine every twenty seconds. He closed his eyes and waited for Satan’s heartwarming “Welcome to hell” that he fully deserved. 

Seeing that there were no responses, Sniper released the shorter man’s neck, who then stood shakily and dropped his head. 

“Fight me, ya godforsaken scoundrel!” Sniper threw the kukuri aside with a loud clang and in nothing but pure, blinding rage, he threw a punch right in the Spy’s gut with a sickening crunch. Spy was thrown off his feet and doubled over in pain; he was in so much pain that he could not make a sound louder than a low whimper. 

Sniper stood still, his head was hazy with fury and hatred. Why isn’t that two-faced bogan fighting back? He stared blankly at the enemy Spy’s body, curled up on the floor of his camper. He grabbed his kukuri, walked over and nudged at the Spy’s limp, motionless body to make it face upwards. Fortunately, the rogue was still alive, his breath quickened as he see the threatening glisten of the blade. Sniper was a professional, and professionals don’t play with their food. He was about to finish the panting man when Spy suddenly raised his right arm in attempt to stop him, his small frame quivering. 

“Please, respawn… Please… Help…” Spy finally found his voice as he pleaded his enemy to spare him, all his pride tossed aside when permanent death was barely inches away. “You… you have to trust me…” 

He reached to his face. 

The balaclava landed without a sound. 

Sniper dropped his blade merely seconds after. 

“My name is Pierre. This is not a trick.” 

Then everything faded to black.


	2. Chapter 2

Sniper looked at the unconscious man on his floor. The BLU Spy. The BLU Spy somehow trespassed all the defense mechanisms that their Engineer had put up and ended up here, out of all the places that he could have gone. 

He nudged the unconscious man with the tip of his foot again. Without the mask, the Spy looked oddly unfamiliar and out of place, as if Sniper had never seen him before. He seemed awfully human, no longer a masked entity that often annoyed him with a lingering soreness on the back when he wake up at respawn. He was now a face that he could associate with a name. 

He couldn’t help but to marvel at the BLU’s now fully exposed face. It was the weathered face of a soldier. Despite the dried blood that littered its surface and the sunken eyes with dark circles underneath, Spy was admittedly handsome. 

He said his name was Pierre. 

And he said something about… Respawn? 

Scooping him up and placing him onto the small bed, Sniper carefully peeled away the soaked, shredded rags and wiped the dry blood off from his face and his arms. Strangely enough, the Spy had no weapons but his disguise kit on him, which Sniper have placed carefully on the nightstand. 

His undershirt stuck to his skin, thick with sweat, blood and molten snow. Sniper swallowed hard and fumbled with the buttons, which had a curious sheen that differed from Sniper’s plastic ones under the dim lights. He hastily wiped off the grime on Spy’s chest, trying his best to avert his eyes from the pale, silky skin and his well-sculpted abdomen, which was decorated with a thin layer of hair that trails down--

Too absorbed in his own thoughts, Sniper accidentally touched the man’s stomach where he had punched him, and the unconscious man released a guttural, pained groan that sounded very much like something else. Sniper quickly withdrew his hands as if burned by his skin, but the sound already sent a surge of heat down to his groin. 

“Bloody fucking spies, buncha no-hopers.” He cursed and pulled one of his clean shirts from a straw basket full of fresh laundry. Ignoring the growing arousal that made his pants uncomfortably tight, he went to work. He was a professional after all. 

\--

A loud _bang_ of the metal doors brought Spy to his consciousness. Too surprised to find himself alive, he did not dare open his eyes. Instead, he utilized his other senses than vision and feigned sleep. 

Footsteps, something being set on the table, a thump, a chair scratching the floor. The Sniper just came back from outside. Spy couldn’t imagine what motivated the marksman to go out in such a malevolent weather, especially how both Snipers had a mutual dislike for coldness. He felt the cover from his head down and the firm surface under his body; he wiggled his fingers on his uninjured side and felt around discreetly, realizing that his clothing was completely dry. 

The material felt rougher than what he usually wore. These are not his clothes. 

Hold the fuck up. Wait a cotton-picking second. 

Deeply disturbed by the fact that he wasn’t wearing any pants either, his fingers tightened around the corner of an unfamiliar pair of cotton briefs. How dare Sniper think that he has this much privilege to-- 

Spy gasped when a finger gently poked him on his shoulder. 

“Oi, Spy, you’re awake then. I brought something for ya, think it’d make you feel better--”

“You didn’t kill me.” Spy rasped, looking straight at his enemy. “What do you want from me?”

Sniper took off his hat and brushed the thin crust of snow off from its surface. He was caked with snow from the waist down and his lanky form was still shivering from the cold. Silently, he went back to the table and brought forth an irregularly shaped package wrapped with what seemed like some sort of leather, and unwrapped it in front of Spy. 

It was a flat, octagonal contraption that had a single red button on the side, perhaps another peculiar invention by the RED Engineer, Spy observed. He tapped on the button and with a quiet click, the machine came whirring to life. 

As a hologram of a standard health pack started forming from the top of the device, Sniper’s low, rumbling voice brought him back to reality. “Touch it.”

“Hmm?” Taken aback by the proximity of his voice and the peculiarity of his demand, Spy frowned. Could this be a trap? Could this be some sort of truth extraction device? Could this--

The device was shoved toward him by an impatient Sniper and the holograph instantly disintegrated with a sizzling noise. Startled by his sudden movement, Spy jerked backwards and hit the wall adjacent to the bed. To his surprise, his left arm did not react to the impact at all; in fact, the throbbing pain from his abdomen faded and was replaced from this spreading warmth that reminded him of the healing beams from the medigun that was rarely pointed at him. 

“No need to fret, spook. I coulda killed ya a thousand times in your sweet sleep. A health pack ain’t gonna kill ya.” Sniper gave a throaty laugh at Spy’s reaction. “Well, ‘d reckon that tiny ribcage of your’s is healing up real nicely.”

Silence. Spy just stared at him, temporarily lost at words. They are enemies, and enemies kill each other instead of providing warmth, comfort and a friendly conversation. Why hasn’t the Sniper killed him yet? Wouldn’t he be glad to see such a nuisance permanently eliminated? What the hell does he want?

“Well, I’m real sorry ‘bout that nasty one in the guts, mate.” Sniper took off his shades and fidgeted with the thin, metal legs, down, up, down, up. “Guess I’ll go fetch something to drink for ya.”

He flinched when Spy suddenly sat upright, hands frozen on his shades when the older man felt around his body now with both of his hands. “What… are _these_?” He gestured at the red shirt that was awkwardly wrapped around him. 

Sniper’s normally inexpressive face was rapidly reddening as the man hurriedly pushed the glasses back onto his face. “I, uh, about that… See, I’m real sorry ‘bout that too, I, you, uhh… Mate, I...”

Completely oblivious to Sniper’s embarrassment, Spy undid a few buttons so he could inspect the seams. The garment was flimsily made comparing to his, ah, higher-end preferences. His frown deepened at the Mann Co. Reliable Excavation Demolition logo on the tag right below the collar and jabbed at the loose threads. Is this what his teammates wear on a daily basis? He thought back to the pile of forgotten standard Mann Co. issued uniform under his bed. 

Sniper’s mouth had suddenly gone dry. The frenchman was smaller than he thought as his shirt was too large and slacked a bit at the shoulders. A pair of thin, delicate hands came up to undo the buttons at his neck, revealing more and more of him, inch by inch. At this time, he could no longer look away. It’s almost a strip tease, Sniper thought, a show of some sort. The red was so red in a way he’d never noticed before, in a way that it hurted his eyes and he wanted it off at this instant. The BLU Spy, weak and vulnerable, was sitting in his bed and wrapped in his RED-issued uniform, the bright yellow crosshair patch burned through his aviators-- It was almost like a mark of some sort, a proof of possession… It was almost like the spy was _his_. 

Sniper audibly gulped. His growing erection liked that idea _very_ much. 

As sensitive as he always was, Spy picked up on the noise and looked up at him, who then attempted to turn to the other side of the room. 

“I… You… _Bloody hell_.” He choked, looking anywhere but the source of his frustration. 

The suspicious blush and the equally-suspicious tent in his pants were tell-tale enough to Spy. Without making any comments, he leisurely slid off from the small bed and approached the seemingly frozen Sniper, the oversized clothing barely covering his crotch. 

“Tch. Are you already demanding return for your act of kindness, bushman?” Spy leaned forward, their noses almost touching as he removed the aviators with a single flicking motion, landing it on the nightstand and ran a shapely, ungloved hand over Sniper’s sizeable bulge. 

Sniper’s brain was hazy with arousal as he desperately clung to the last bit of his conscience. This is wrong, he asserted to himself, very bloody wrong. Think about what happened to Tavish, Mundy. Think about--

Looking into Sniper’s gray eyes, Spy feigned a sigh, “Can’t wait to use me like a whore that you’d pick up from a dark alley with this very van, eh, _Rick_?”

His name being purred into his ear accompanied by a warm puff of breath was all that it took for Sniper to abandon his virtues. He reached and grabbed Spy by the collar and pulled, their foreheads colliding.

“Pierre, darl, I will show you what’s a damn _proper rootin’_.” He bit down at the bruises that he left on Spy’s neck from earlier, eliciting delicious little gasps and moans from his victim. He then seized the smaller man by the lips, more teeth than tongue but Spy was moaning into his mouth and clinging to his front so he didn’t care. 

His other hand slid around Spy’s slim waist and down, giving one of his buttcheeks a firm squeeze and mashing their groins together, grinding without abandon. Spy, the greatest vermin in his entire career, now mere putty in his hands. The seemingly cold-blooded assassin now radiated an incredible heat that made Sniper’s cock throb and ache in his trousers, his whole body burning with need. 

He broke off the kiss with a soft, wet _pop_ and left a trail of wet kisses down Spy’s neck, pressing his lips against the fading bruises and sucked on the long, thin scar that ran from the base of his throat down to the chest, where he tormented a hard nipple with his tongue and a bit of his teeth, drawing loud, wanton groans from the man in his arms. 

To Spy, the world seemed to contract into a singularity and that was Sniper. Sniper’s lips, Sniper’s tongue, Sniper’s teeth, Sniper’s hands - they were all over him, overwhelming him with waves of sensation. Who he was or where he was no longer mattered, all that mattered was to get more of this and he didn’t know what this is. He pressed himself entirely against the marksman, precum already seeping through the thin layer of cotton that was pushed up by his hard cock.

Sniper was just beginning to realize how many layers there were in between them as Spy’s nimble fingers worked themselves over the zipper of his winter overalls and then the buttons of his collared shirt. Soon, the clothings were carelessly tossed on the floor and both of them were stark naked, chest against chest as Sniper’s hand closed around their erections, their hips bucked into his grip in a fervent pace. 

Resting his head in the crook of Sniper’s neck, Spy breathed in his scent of sweat, coffee and gunpowder and felt like he was entirely enveloped and immolated by Sniper’s heat as the lanky man pulled him up for another hot, passionate kiss. Sniper’s hand moved in an impeccable rhythm around their arousal and Spy couldn’t do anything but to thrust into that hand like a bitch in heat. 

Sniper’s other hand wasn’t idle either; he lathered his index and middle fingers with spit and teased Spy’s entrance with his slippery fingers. Slowly, he inserted two fingers, then three, scissoring in effort to expand Spy’s tight hole. Sensing that Spy was nearing the edge of release, he let go of their erections and pinched the head of Spy’s cock, holding Spy down as the man weakly struggled against him. 

Denied of his orgasm, Spy couldn’t help but to whimper. “I… Don’t stop…”

Sniper laughed quietly, his voice low and husky as he spoke, “You oughta _beg_ for it, ya petty little slut.”

“S’il vous plait…” Spy let out a near-strangled sob, “Anything… Anything that you want… Just use me… Fuck me, please!”

Sniper barely restrained himself from coming on the spot. He pulled free from the shorter man and threw him roughly on the small bed face down, forcefully pushing Spy into the bed sheet. Leaning forward, Sniper sucked at the rogue’s earlobe and hummed into his ears. He reached and restrained Spy’s aching cock with a leather ring, a gruff chuckle rumbled in his chest when he felt the body thrashing under him in despair. 

Amused, he reached and yanked Spy backwards by his hair, earning another choked mewl. “Anything, darl?” He ground his large cock between Spy’s cheeks, drawing more needy little whines from the man. 

“Oui…” Spy sobbed and writhed as if in pain, struggling to get some friction against the bed sheet but he could not. Suddenly, Sniper withdrew from him and he was left bare and exposed to the chilly air. 

Did he do something wrong? Spy squeezed his eyes shut, suppressed himself from begging and chasing his warmth. 

“Bugger. Where'd I put that bloody…!” Sniper turned around from the drawers of his nightstand and was greeted with such a scandalous view. Spy was on his knees, his face buried in the covers and his ass propped high in the air, his hands spreading the cheeks open, displaying his puckering little hole that was just begging to be fucked. 

Seconds later Spy felt Sniper’s tongue hot and wet at his entrance, lapping and probing at it, pushing in and out of his fleshy-pink hole that made Spy squirm with need. 

“Aha. Gotcha.” Sniper tipped forward and snatched the small bottle next to his pillow, took off the cap and started generously lathering his cock with the slick, cold liquid. 

Carefully pushing inch by inch, Sniper was enveloped in such a heavenly heat as Spy clawed at the fabric beneath him. His whole body quaked as his rear tightened around the base of Sniper’s member like a little mouth, greedily sucking him in and demanding more. He felt a pair of strong, gangly arms pulled him closer, Sniper’s breath burned against his ears and he could feel his frantic heartbeat against his back. 

“Ya alright, spook?” 

“Just…” Spy grunted as if in pain, “Move… _Défonce-moi--!_ ”

Sniper bellowed and bit down on the side of his neck. He pulled completely out of Spy and drove in with a single forward motion of his hips, burying himself deep inside of him. The last bit of concern for his partner dissipated as Sniper gripped on the limp, sinewy body and slammed into it over and over again. The searing pain came in equal parts with pleasure for Spy when Sniper’s length pounded in a merciless pace, whose blunt nails dug into the satin-smooth surface of Spy’s waist, deep enough to draw blood. 

He shifted himself inside Spy, purposefully shifting to a different angle that had the rogue screaming a string of French, clenching his ass even tighter. 

“That’s right, lil’ cunt. Keep on screaming an’ bet ya can’t backstab _this_.” Sniper gave his behind a hard slap, snapping his hips into Spy’s sweet spot with every thrust. The sound of flesh smashing into flesh filled the room and Spy was reduced to nothing but a listless, groaning ragdoll in Sniper’s hands, a mere fucktoy that he can empty his load in. A whirlpool of pleasure crackled in his veins as he slowly lost his rhythm and into a frenzy mayhem, scorching semen came gushing into him. 

Bolts of ecstasy seared through Spy’s being; his vision swam in an explosion of light as Sniper loosened the ring with a flick of his wrist and wrapped his calloused hand around his oversensitive member, giving it a few half-hearted jerks. He came with a muffled scream and emptied himself on the sheets below him and collapsed onto Sniper, both breathlessly panting. 

Without a word, Sniper pulled Spy into an embrace and left a few soft, gentle kisses on his forehead. He reached out and yanked on a string and the dim yellow light went out, waited for his hectic heartbeat to calm.

It was Spy who broke the silence. 

“ Was that what you wanted then?”

Sniper shook his head, although he knew that Spy couldn’t see a thing in the dark. 

“Nah. But it’d be aces if you gonna pay me more ‘visits’, my _Pierre_.”

Spy smiled as the lanky Aussie nuzzled his neck and tightened his arms around him possessively. 

All of the sudden, Coldfront seemed not as cold as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr: tf2-lil-broomstick
> 
> I am only on tumblr for tf2 fan art xd dont associate me with any of the sjw stuff

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if I will continue based on this one. Please leave comments if you have questions, suggestions or just idk anything to say. Peace.


End file.
